An American Kidnapped
by Elli Seychelles
Summary: here was Iggy, looking almost completely defenceless with his hand holding a blood stained would at his side and his attackers knife to his throat. If looks could kill, he would be dead and in the lowest level of hell before he could utter a word. WARNING: Gruesome Injuries, Profanity, Torture


_"Why? Dammit, why? It's not fair...!" _

We weren't in England, that's for sure. I never really did remember which country we were in. After going to McDonald's with my complaining Iggy, I had told the car driver -or Chauffeur as Artie called him- that we were going on a walk and to be back by 2:00 AM. Maybe the reason why I don't remember was because it was so late, but I had to drag Britain away from those boring papers. After I had convinced him to go out, he said we should go to a local bar... But I didn't want him to be a mess for the next world meeting. I know I'm not the most responsible nation around, but I had to help the dude get out a bit, didn't I?

It was so late that I didn't think to bring my gun with me, yeah I had a pocketknife on me, but who thinks to use that as a weapon? We were just having a good time, me inhaling a couple of burgers and Iggy cursing about how inelegant I was or something. I had noticed that we weren't in the nicest neighborhood in town, but the exit was in the opposite way we were headed, I couldn't just turn around like a wimp! The guys that came on to us weren't even from any place around there.

"Oh bloody hell! You're going to kill yourself or go into another one of your food comas if you keep stuffing your face like that!" Britain pronounced, disgusted at my rude manners.

I laughed in between chewing and swallowed, "At least I can cook, your scones only work for ammo in battle~"

"I'll have you know that you used to adore my cooking! It was the only thing you ever ate before..." The air grew quiet as we both remembered that day. It wasn't something easily forgotten, as I got older, Iggy was at a loss of money, so he pushed his outrageous taxes on me and my buddies. I just couldn't take him bossing me around anymore! I had declared my independence from him but he wouldn't hear a word of it. After many long battles, I fought him standing alone, we scuffled around until I was unarmed and he had his gun pointed at me. I had thought it was all over, then he suddenly just gave up, started crying, and cursed. He was so much weaker back then...

"Hey Britain, dude do you want a burger? They're really tasty!" I could never stand depressing silences like that one. He looked over at me with a look of regret, then it flashed away to his annoyed expression.

"No, I don't want to try those dreadful fat sandwiches! I'd rather not have a stomachache when I reach home," he really needed to relax more. I was about to tell him how much better they were to any of his recipes, when I felt a sharp pain in my arm.

Metal bit into it, sharp enough to go through the dense fabric of my bomber jacket. I let out a curse as I flung my other arm's elbow at my attacker. They seemed to evade me, shrouded in the shadows of the alley to our left. Blood was staining my jacket badly, making me curse even more, this was vintage, you know! I pulled the knife out of my forearm, the wound gushing blood for a while before shifting into a small stream. Blood drifted onto the ground and I started to worry about attracting the rabid stray dogs that loved anything that smelled like meat.

Only then did I hear a soft cry from my beloved Artie.

My eyes went wide and dangerous, my hand tightening around the knife in my hand and my body only shifting slightly to stare at the scene behind me. There was Iggy, looking almost completely defenceless with his hand holding a blood stained would at his side and his attackers knife to his throat. If looks could kill, he would be dead and in the lowest level of hell before he could utter a word.

Iggy had a pained expression on his face that hurt me to even look at, his attacker must of hit something important or he would have lashed back out. Now there was a knife to his throat, and we both knew even if we were nations it would take a while to come back to life. The real question was, would these bastards leave him alone after doing away with him? Actually, a better question than that, where should I put these bastards when I'm done with them?

No way was I going to watch Iggy die again. The last time it had happened was when we were in a war with France and those Indians that had teamed up with him. Musket fire could be heard from every direction and the Indians didn't fight like Europeans, they got down and dirty, not even needing muskets with their fast arrows and spears. Even Britain's men were shaking with fear and anticipation from the war cries and calls the painted warriors made, running with skill and knowledge of the trees. Two of their warriors had attacked him, slicing a perfect thin line through his neck and gutting him triumphantly. The knife I had thrown didn't even reach the first one's forehead until his job was done.

My whole world collapsed in those few hours waiting for him to revive again. Our men had retreated soon after and it seemed like the barbarians who had taken away my beloved were staying clear of us, whether pity or mockery. Iggy's neck had been cleanly cut off and it would take hours just for the two pieces to connect back together, a country's body was truly amazing. I rested his body with his neck against my knees as I sat on them with his head in my hands. If America had ever rained blood, it did that day.

The memory played through my head again and again, making my head ache and my eyes burn with dread. I saw that Iggy's attacker had wasn't planning on letting me get within arms reach of him without Britain's life draining away. My eyes lowered to his side injury and I knew he should have at least past out by now.

I let go of the knife, it making a loud clanging noise on the ground as it began to rain. A chuckled came from the one behind me, gripping my injured arm with his fingers going into my bleeding wound. I cringed sharply, spouting profanities at him.

"We know you can take, Boss said you freaks can survive anything. If you leave with us peacefully, we let bushy brows go, if not..." His friend's knife made a small wound in Britain's neck, the other nation let out a small cry of pain, barely above a whisper.

"No! D-Don't hurt him..." I let my arms hand limp at my sides, trying to show my lost will as obviously as possible. Iggy's attacker let him go, throwing him into the trash cans and a sound came from my throat like a wail. I felt something sharp and metal hit the back of my neck and my world went black.

_Haven't written a fanfiction in forever! Sorry I haven't done anything, I'll be sure to update my other stories soon! I actually started this one right after updating The Other Me, but never went anywhere with it, glad I did now._

_P.S. Sorry for the gruesome visuals..._


End file.
